Nothing
by theperfectstorm
Summary: He wanted words but all he heard was nothing. Based off of "Nothing" by The Script.


__Hi guys! I don't really know where this came from, but I heard the song on the radio the other day and I couldn't help myself. It started out as a small oneshot and ended up being almost 3,000 words. Oops? I've read through this a few times and changed a bunch of things each time, but my eyes can't take it anymore. This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own. If you see anything wrong, please let me know! I'm still new to the whole writing thing, so any reviews, constructive criticism or otherwise, are highly appreciated! And for those of you who are actually reading The Art of the Con, I promise more is coming!

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_Am I better off dead? Am I better off a quitter?_

_They say I'm better off now than I ever was with her_

_As they take me to my local down the street_

_I'm smiling but I'm dying trying not to drag my feet_

_She remembered._

Ten months. Ten entire months and she didn't say a word.

It broke him. He was willing to wait. He was _happy_ to wait. But now, all that waiting would go to waste. All he could think of for days after the incident in the interrogation room was how it made his breath catch in his throat, how it literally knocked the wind out of him.

He couldn't look at her without that painful moment playing back in his head, so he left. The day he left she asked if he had a second to talk, probably about something case related, but he declined.

If it were a week earlier, everyone knows he would have dropped anything he was doing to hear what she had to say, no matter what it was. But he couldn't do it. Even if it was just a little tidbit of information about something completely unrelated, he couldn't risk being around her. Just the sight of her made his mind whirl with images of lost opportunities and the future they wouldn't have.

He turned and walked out of the precinct, leaving behind a shocked and confused detective. They said goodnight, but there would be no "good morning".

It's been a few weeks since he left, with no words having been spoken after that night. He ignored all of her calls and texts, refusing to return them.

He deserved to react this way. At least that's what he was telling himself.

But the more he thought on it, the more he wondered if he was wrong. If he should have heard her out that night she asked, instead of dismissing her and striding into the elevator without so much as a second thought.

The more he pondered what she was going to say, letting it eat at him from the inside out, the more his anger subsided into something more dangerous: sadness. He left her. He quit. Richard Castle was not a quitter. He fought for the things he loved.

_What if she wasn't going to talk about the case? What if she wanted to talk about something else, something more important and I just waved her off? What if-_

Before he could delve deeper into this train of thought, a familiar voice brought him back to reality.

"Rick! You with us, man?" the voice laughed.

He turned to see a tall, brunette man walking beside him, his large brown eyes trained on his face with a questioning look. Brandon Devereaux.

_Oh, right, _Castle thought to himself, quickly remembering he wasn't alone.

A few of his friends decided he needed to get out of the loft so they took it upon themselves to take him to the bar on the corner. He didn't particularly want to go on this outing, but he couldn't say no – again – so he put on his best fake smile and let them whisk him away.

His shoes scraped across the hard concrete underneath him, making a very noticeable, unpleasant scratching noise. His feet seemed to drag more often after having lost the bounce in his step he had only a week ago.

"What- yeah, yeah I'm good," he replied, trying to sound as put together as he could.

If the sideways glare he got in return was any indication, he'd say his efforts fell short. "You're thinking about her again, aren't you?" Rick's aversion of his eyes and sheepish half-grin gave Brandon his answer.

A second voice chimed in, "What did we tell you, dude? Forget about her. If she doesn't want you, she doesn't want you. You're a hell of a lot better off without her anyway. The old Rick is back, let him loose!"

Good old Sammy Spencer, upfront as always.

Castle sighed. _I don't remember the old Rick feeling this torn_. A part of him wanted to listen to him. Just forget all about her and move on with his life. He was just being strung along; nothing was ever going to come from their relationship.

But he couldn't. He couldn't move on, he couldn't forget. He couldn't just turn his feelings off, despite what he told mother.

He still loved Kate.

_They say a few drinks will help me to forget her_

_But after one too many I know that I'm never_

_Only they can see where this is gonna end_

_They all think I'm crazy but to me it's perfect sense_

Time passed and Castle got lost in his own thoughts once again. His friends were talking to him most of the way, but he had no idea what they were saying. He didn't hear them; he only saw their lips moving. He just nodded along, throwing in the occasional fake laugh and hoping they weren't asking him a question that required a verbal answer.

Before he knew it they had reached their destination and he was being seated onto a cold bar stool. He glanced around, taking in the people around him before a thud made him whip back around.

"Here, these will make you forget her," Sammy pushed, sliding the shot glass right under Castle's nose, "when you're done, you won't even remember her name."

They continued passing him drinks until he was having trouble picking up the glass on his own.

The drinks were intended to help Rick forget about Kate, forget everything. But they didn't. In his impaired state, they just brought everything flooding back.

There was no longer a filter to his thoughts, the same filter he "installed" after hearing her confession. It helped him to block those specific things out.

But now it was gone. The alcohol had taken down the one barrier between him and those memories, and now here they were. All of them.

He thought about their first case. The chemistry they had right off the bat.

He thought about the first time she told him about her mother. The small piece of that wall she had to take down in order to let him in. To tell him something personal.

He thought about their undercover kiss. _Amazing,_ he remembered. Every second.

He thought about the shooting. Hovering over her limp body, begging and pleading for her to stay with him.

He told her he loved her. That was clear as day in his mind.

He could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile before her world went black. But then he thought about the interrogation room. How she spilled to a suspect that she remembered _every second of it, _in her words.

That smile must have been a figment of his imagination. She wouldn't have smiled. _Because she doesn't feel the same way._

All of these memories flashing through his brain hit him like a brick. He could never forget, that much had been made clear.

He couldn't take it anymore and before anyone could stop him, Rick was stumbling off of his seat.

"Rick! Hey! Where are you going?" Brandon called out from the other end of the bar, slowly standing from his seat.

But Castle didn't turn around, didn't stop. He didn't even hesitate. Instead he just continued outside in his drunken haze, tears threatening to escape his eyes as he fell out the door.

_And my mates are all there trying to calm me down_

_Cause I'm shouting your name all over town_

_I'm swearing if I go there now_

_I can change your mind, turn it all around_

"Kate!" The name came out as a slurred cry, probably incoherent to the people passing by. If they didn't know better, they'd have no idea what he was trying to say.

Sammy and Brandon were now standing outside of the bar, eyes scanning around for a few minutes before they spotted him. Rick only made it halfway down the street due to his wobbly legs, but that didn't stop him from trying.

When they finally caught up to where he had stopped, they found him clutching onto the wall of a nearby building for support, tears now streaming down his face.

_Kate._

He didn't care that he was crying in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot. His chest was now heaving up and down, his breaths coming out ragged and shallow.

He just wanted Beckett. Even if she didn't want him.

"Kate!" he yelped again, spinning his head around as if he was expecting to find her standing there. "Beckett! Kate!"

"Hey! Rick! Calm down," Sammy whispered, grabbing onto his shoulders to guide him away from the building before turning him so they were face to face. "She's not here, man. Kate isn't here. She's not coming."

"Wha? No, No- she- Kate- be here!" He couldn't get a complete thought out of his mouth. It all made sense in his head; he just couldn't formulate the words.

He could almost hear her taunting him. _"And you call yourself a writer, Castle?"_

Once he calmed down, no longer whimpering, he took a deep breath.

When he spoke again, it came out in a deep, slow voice, as if he were trying to enunciate every word just right. "I can go to her. I'll go to her now. I can change her mind. I can be her one and done."

_I know I'm drunk but I'll say the words_

_And she'll listen to me this time even though they're slurred_

_Dialed her number and confessed to her, I'm still in love_

_But all I heard was nothing_

Rick was now hunched over against the building he recently used as support, cell phone gripped in his hands. His friends refused to let him leave their sight, so he had no choice but to sit there, legs sprawled out in front of him. His vision was a bit shaky and he was still not nearly sober enough to make any calls, but neither Sammy nor Brandon could wrestle his phone away.

He sat there for God knows how long just staring at the smiling picture he had set as her photo ID. It made his heart clench.

His Kate. _No, not mine. She doesn't want me. _

Another fifteen minutes passed before he decided he was actually going to do it. Despite the voiced oppositions of Sammy and Brandon, he was going to call her. He was regaining the ability to speak in full, coherent, sentences, so why not?

If she was going to turn him down, he wanted to hear it from her. In her voice, her own words.

He'd probably regret this decision later once the alcohol wore off, but right now it was the only thing on his mind. He wouldn't settle until he did it.

And with that, he clicked on her contact and pressed send.

The phone rang a few more times than usual before it connected, but all he heard was soft breathing on the other end.

After composing himself the best he could, he spoke. "Kate."

Nothing.

"Kate, please, talk to me," he whispered into the phone, barely audible.

Nothing.

"Beckett, I'm- I just want to talk. I know you're probably mad. Please," his voice pleaded into the phone placed gently over his ear by a shaky hand.

Still nothing.

Wiping away another tear that had escaped his eye, he cursed himself and hung up, pounding his phone onto the cement at his side.

Brandon and Sammy slid down next to him but remained silent, and for a minute Rick forgot they were even there.

_I guess I was right; _the words flowed through his brain like poison. He didn't dare say them out loud, but they were there.

_No. _Castle shook his head, trying to erase his most recent thought. He couldn't just give up. One more shot. He had to go to her. Not call, go to her. See her, face to face.

He had to hear her say she didn't want him.

A part of him – hell, all of him – hoped one of their previous encounters would tell to be true…

_Third time's the charm, right?_

_So I stumble there, along the railings and the fences_

_I know with her face to face, that she'll come to her senses_

_Every drunk step I take leads me to her door_

_If she sees how much I'm hurting she'll take me back for sure_

Somewhere along the way he must have lost Brandon and Sammy. Truth be told, he did it on purpose. He took short cuts he knew would throw them off in the dark of night. He would much rather do this on his own without an audience.

Through patches of trees, across old railroad tracks, and along old fences he strode. He was still a bit unsteady, but it got better the more he walked.

_Once I'm there… _He couldn't even finish his thought.

What was he expecting to happen when he showed up at her doorstep, still drunk and in pieces? Did he really think she would want that?

He wanted her to see how he torn up he was. He wanted her to know he knew. And he wanted to know why she hid it.

But most of all, he just wanted to see her. He hadn't talked to her in the three weeks he's been away from the precinct and it ended up being harder than he initially thought.

It was like a long time smoker quitting cold turkey; easy when you thought about it, but difficult to actually accomplish.

He saw her almost every day for years. And then nothing. He couldn't do it. He didn't _want_ to do it. He was acting rash and he knew that now.

All too soon he found himself outside of her door, unsure of what to do. Should he turn around and go back to the loft? Should he sit outside of her door and wait until morning?

_No_. He came this far. He couldn't turn back now, so he did what he had come to do.

He knocked.

_She said nothing_

_I wanted words but all she said was nothing_

_Oh I got nothing_

_Nothing_

After the knock went unanswered for a few minutes, he figured she wasn't home or she was still asleep. He was just about to leave when the door opened with a creek, revealing an obviously tired Beckett. The look on her face when she picked her head up and saw him was a mix between confusion and… anger?

_Shit_, he muttered silently to himself.

Her lips pursed together and her arms immediately crossed over her chest.

"Kate," he began slowly, treading lightly, hoping for some kind of response.

But she remained silent, her expression unchanged, but somehow now less readable.

He understood, somewhat. He ignored her calls and avoided her for weeks, and then he shows up at her door late at night wanting to talk. Drunk, no less.

But he wanted her to understand. He wanted her to understand why he ran.

"Please, say something. Anything," his voice came out as a desperate whisper.

Kate shifted her weight from one foot to another, leaning herself against the door frame. Her eyes were cold and glazed over. Rick wanted to attribute it to the fatigue, but he knew that wasn't true. Not entirely, anyway.

Despite his pleading, she still said nothing.

Not a single word.

He didn't know if she was doing it to reflect his impulsive action, if she was really that livid, or if she simply had nothing to say to him.

Whichever of those options it was, he took the hint and closed his eyes, sighing.

"Alright, I get it. I'll go. Goodbye, Kate," he said, barely able to get the words out without due to the lump in his throat.

She let out a slow, shaky breath before turning her back to him and shutting the door. He thought he saw her eyes glisten with a slight hint of moisture when the light from the hallway hit her face, but it was probably just his imagination. Again.

Defeated, he ran his hands through his hair and trudged down the hall, not even bothering to lift his feet to lessen the drag.

_Oh sometimes love is intoxicating_

_Oh you're coming down, your hands are shaking_

_When you realize there's no one waiting_

That was it.

There would be no third time. No charm. Nothing.

Her actions and lack of words made it blatantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. He got the message. _Loud and clear._

Castle made his way back to his loft, his entire body shaking, and he forced himself through the door. He couldn't even make it to his bedroom so he settled for the couch in the living room.

His better half, his soul mate, his friend, his partner – she was gone.

_Am I better off dead? _

_Am I better off a quitter?_

Castle couldn't do it anymore. The love of his life was done. Done with him.

He eyed the bottles of whiskey lying on his coffee table from the night before and with an unsteady grip, grabbed one, careful to not let it fall.

_This'll be easy, _he thought to himself, downing what remained in one of the bottles before picking up another_._

Now, he was done too.


End file.
